


without you I'm a lost boy

by effervescently



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Punk Bucky Barnes, Torture, hipster Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effervescently/pseuds/effervescently
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starts out as a High School AU with Hipster!Steve and Punk!Bucky, but will eventually cover Bucky's time as the Winter Soldier in a different take on the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You can never love Brooklyn like you hate riding the train to school, Steve thought to himself as he clutched the handrail. Even though he had only a few minutes ride, it was his worst part of his day. That is, if you forgot about the whole high school thing. He only had one school year left though, so he decided to just keep to himself and try to ignore the jerks. He didn’t want his mom to worry - she was sick enough as it is - no need for her to worry about a couple of bruises or torn up notebooks.   
  
Someone on the train laughed and the abruptness of it made Steve snap out of his daydreaming. He wound his way through the crowd of commuters, clutching his bag to his chest.  
 „Uh, um..sorry, would you mind..yeah, this is my stop..thanks”   
  
The doors hissed open and fresh air, smelling faintly of greenery, mixed with the metallic tang of warm, circulated air in the train. Across the street from the station, a crowd was already forming in front of his school.   
  
Steve busied himself by pretending to search through his bag until the bell buzzed, signaling the beginning of the school year.  
He waited until the cigarettes were put out and hugs and squeals and I-missed-you-so-muches were exchanged, and shuffled in the back of the crowd.  
  
Homeroom was as dull as ever. He exchanged a few „Hi, how was your summer?”s with the rare kids who actually noticed he existed and slid into the back. He put his bag on the desk next to his to save a seat for his friend. Nat was his only friend, really.   
  
They’d been inseparable since they started taking art classes together. Not that she was actually good at art  - „I only take art because of the models, hun,” she’d admitted after Steve noticed her doodling something vaguely resembling a potato with a bowler hat. „Me, too” he whispered back. And thus their epic friendship began.  
  
He stiffened as someone clutched him from behind and ruffled his hair.  
„Morning, doofus. Sorry I couldn’t meet ya, but I had a prior arrangement.”  
„Really?” Steve raised his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
Natasha smirked at him. „Really. Speaking of that prior arrangement, you’re going to meet them soon.”  
  
„Them?”  
  
She shook her head. „It’s some new guy who is going to be in our class.”  
„And you know him how? Through your Russian community or something?” Steve laughed.  
„Yes, actually. His family back in Russia is on good terms with my folks - they asked us to keep an eye on him.  
  
He was actually born here but his family moved to Russia because his dad was a..” Natasha leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “ _..spy_.”  
  
„Are you _kidding_? Like, _an actual spy_? With trench coats, and mini films and umbrella guns and shit?”  
  
Nat nodded. „Uh-huh. It’s all very hush-hush but apparently his family sent him here because they didn’t want the Russians to try and like, torture him for information and stuff. By the way, don’t tell him you know - my dad would kill me.”  
  
„Of course not. We’ll probably never talk anyways, so..” Steve shrugged and pulled out his sketchbook.   
He was trying to finish a sketch of his future tattoo. He already had a few pieces done, but nothing this complex. It was a 3-d shield, which turned out nice, but Steve couldn’t get the colors right. He was considering asking his art teacher for advice when the teacher walked in.  
  
Mr. Lewis was a twenty-something guy who finished art school as a post-modernist prodigy, and then decided to teach hormonal adolescents instead of mingling at artsy galas and gallery openings. Lewis was ridiculously tall and slightly balding, which he hid by way of a buzzcut and a magnificently distracting beard.  
  
„Morning, guys. First of all, I’d like to welcome you back and wish you all luck in our new school year. Secondly, I’d like you to welcome a new student.” He gestured to the door, where a tall dark-headed boy was peeking from. „Come on in, meet everyone.”  
  
„Yes, Mr. Lewis,” the boy nodded. He was tall and lean, slightly muscular - not like he spent all his free time at the gym, but unlike Steve, who was barely more that skin-and-bones. His hair was short but unruly, like he hadn’t combed it for a week. There were leftover traces of eyeliner smudged under his eyes. In fact, with his dark skinny jeans and faded shirt he looked more like he was dressed for a night out than school. Steve liked it.   
  
There were so few people ready to break the Abercrombie&Fitch cookie-cutter trend, that when they appeared he took to liking them immediately. The guy seemed nice. He smiled at the class and his eyes lit up like blue orbs.  
  
„Hello, everyone. I’m James Buchanan. Before you ask - no, _I am not_ a drug addict; no, _I will not_ give you a smoke; and no, _I will not_ help you get a Russian mail-order bride. I’m out.”   
  
He took the textbook the teacher handed him, and after half-heartedly saluting the class, calmly took his seat in front of Steve. He turned to Natasha and they started talking in Russian, most likely exchanging pleasantries.  
  
Steve tore out a piece of paper and scribbled: _I like this guy. He’s cute._ _Think he'd be into someone like me? What if he's not gay and hates me?_  
He didn’t have time to pass it to Nat before James turned to him, so he just pushed it back into his sketchbook.  
  
Steve cleared his throat. „Uh, hi, James.”   
  
James smiled at Steve and extended his hand.  
  
“It’s a pleasure. And it’s Bucky to friends.”   
  
“And Yasha to me!”  -Nat interjected.  
  
„Neat! Um, I mean, cool, I guess. Steve Rogers.” He held out his right hand while mentally kicking himself. He could see Nat holding back a smile in his peripheral vision.  
  
„Well, Steve, I like your tattoo,” Bucky nodded at Steve’s right arm. There was a geometric pattern coiling around his forearm and disappearing under his rolled-up shirt sleeves.  
  
„Thanks. It was my first.”  
  
Bucky raised his eyebrows. „First implying you have more?”  
  
„Yeah, I’ve got a few more.”  
  
Steve nodded and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, just enough for him to see other tattoos peeking out.  
„I’ve also got a tattoo on my back. It’s just a quote though.”  
  
„ _Liberty and justice for alllll_ ” Natasha mocked in a sing-song voice. Steve could feel his cheeks burning and tried to calculate the trajectory needed to hit Nat with the sharp end of his pencil.  
  
James wore a strange expression.   
  
„What?” Steve asked him.  
  
„Nothing. I’m just impressed - you’re much more badass than I’d thought a tiny hipster kid would be.”  
  
„I'm not a hipster," Steve snorted, "And they’re just tattoos, nothing badass. They didn't even hurt that much.”  
  
„Well, I usually trust my gut,” Bucky admitted, " And besides begging for food, it's currently telling me I'm dealing with a kid that's out of touch with reality. I have to say I believe every word it says."  
  
„Don’t, because it’s obviously faulty.” Steve muttered and looked away from Bucky's piercing gaze.   
  
„It works perfectly, thank you very much. You plannin’ on doing more tattoos?” James asked, trying to get his attention.  
  
„Yes, if I can afford it. Actually, I’m working on it right now.” Steve pointed to his sketchbook.  
  
„Can I see?” Bucky asked, with genuine interest.  
  
„Sure,” Steve said, leafing through the pages.   
„Here,” he said and turned the sketchbook so Bucky could see.  
  
He nodded appreciatively.   
  
„Nice, Rogers.” He poked Steve’s left shoulder. „I think it would look nice here.”  
  
Steve felt his cheeks heat up ever-so-slightly. „That’s what I was thinking actually. Do you have any?”  
  
Bucky shook his head and smiled wistfully.  
  
„Not yet. I’m planning to get one on my 21st birthday. Promised my Nana I wouldn’t do anything permanent until then.”  
  
Steve understood his sentiment - if his gran was still alive, he’d listen too.  
„Do you have an idea of what you want or you’ll just wing it?”  
  
James shrugged. „Kinda have something in my head, but nothing solid. I’ll bring you a sketch when I’m finished. Do you mind if I check your stuff out?” He pointed to his sketchbook.  
  
„Not at all. Are you an artist?”  
  
Bucky traced his fingers over figures sketched on the pages.  
  
„Not really. Nothing more than doodles and badly written prose, I’m afraid.”  
  
„You’re a writer? That’s awesome, man.” Steve pushed up his glasses.   
  
Bucky smiled and bit his lip. „I’m not good at it, but it’s a therapeutic way to deal with...stuff. So I write.”  
  
„Hey, whatever helps is good, okay? I know my art helped me through a lot of shit.”  
  
„Cool. Uh, the bell just buzzed and I have to get to English. Hey, um, do you guys wanna grab Starbucks after school or something?”  
  
„Absolutely,” Steve spat out before he could think.   
  
Bucky just chuckled as he turned away.   
  
„See you at the parking lot, " Bucky said, not looking back as he walked away.  
  
„ _Holy shit_ ,” Natasha whispered, „I think he likes you”  
  
„He doesn’t. He just complimented my art.”  
  
 _„Which is on your freakin’ body_ , idiot.” she slapped his shoulder as she passed. "You two are going to be so adorable. You have to promise me something, Stevie."

"What, Natasha?"

"That I'll be your only and most beautiful bridesmaid."  
  
„Nat. Shut up, we’ll be late for Trig.”  
  
Steve looked through his things with confusion as he followed Natasha through the winding hallways. He stopped to shake out his sketchbook, but nothing fell out except for drawing supplies receipt.  
  
„What’s wrong?” Nat yelled from the end of the hallway, after she noticed Steve wasn’t beside her.  
  
„Nothing, just.. Have you seen a piece of paper about yay big?” He gestured vaguely in the shape of a small paper scrap.  
  
„Nah. It’s probably somewhere on the floor back in homeroom. Is it something important?”  
  
Steve shook his head and caught up with Natasha, his messenger bag banging against his bony hips as he half-walked, half-jogged over.  
  
He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
“Nope, nothing important at all.”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's first day at school. Also Starbucks with Nat and Steve!

Bucky Barnes’s first day of school in New York didn’t go as expected. When his father disappeared during a business trip last spring, he hadn’t expected for life to return to normal. Sure, moving to your homeland while your family stays behind in the Russian cold wasn’t exactly normal protocol for an eighteen year-old, but he liked to think he managed. He had the Russian community there to help if he needed anything, yet he was essentially alone.

 

Bucky rented the top floor from an old family friend, Anushka Alianovna, who owned an old, rickety, creaking-at-every-step, two-storey house in Brooklyn. Anushka was well into her eighties and needed every source of income she could get, so his mother sent him to her.

 

He didn’t mind the nosey old lady too much, and his school was a ten minute walk away. If he woke half an hour before the first bell he had enough time to take a shower and dress in whatever was in his closet and clean. When he opened his closet that day, he made mental note to buy a lamp or something.

 

The closet was dark and his clothes were almost all black, which made it difficult to actually see his wardrobe. He felt around in the dark and pulled out a pair of skinny jeans and black t-shirt he bought at his first concert at 15, which looked grey from endless washing. The band logo was practically invisible, but Bucky liked the way the shirt fit him. It was kinda loose, but still clung to his chest in a way that actually made him look kinda-sorta attractive.

 

He put on a thin silver necklace with his family ring suspended on it around his neck and tucked it below the shirt’s collar.

 

His leather backpack held nothing but his wallet and some paperwork the school required so it was too light, and bounced on his back as he walked to school. A red-headed girl was waiting for him on the next block.

 

Natasha was a tiny, but ferocious girl, who he had met at his impromptu “Welcome to America!” party. She was supposed to be a friend, someone to help him navigate the American school system. His family moved to Russia when he was only 4 years old so he hadn’t attended school in New York before they left for a small town outside Moscow. Natasha already texted him a list of appropriate things to do or say, which basically amounted to “Don’t be a fuckboy!!!” and the only thing left for him to do was to try and make friends, and possibly have grades good enough to get into college.

 

As soon as he was near her, Natasha attack-hugged him. “Yasha! You ready for school?”

 

Buck ran a hand through his hair and grinned at her. “I sure hope so.”

Nat linked their hands at the elbow and pulled him to her, in what Bucky was sure was Natasha’s way of comforting him.

 

They chatted a bit about nothing in particular until they reached the school and Bucky’s chest constricted. Natasha patted him on his arm and went to class, leaving him to find the administration offices alone.

 

Bucky dropped of his paperwork and met Mr. Lewis, his art and homeroom teacher, who led Bucky to his classroom. He waited outside while the teacher made his announcements, and peeked through the tiny glass window on the door. He immediately spotted Nat’s fiery hair.

 

She was smiling at a tiny blond guy sitting beside her. The guy was an artsy, hipsterish kind of guy. He was sickly thin and had quirks like constantly running a hand through his hair,which he rocked an undercut, pushing his glasses up his nose and tapping his pencil on the desk.

 

Mr. Lewis suddenly opened the door, nearly hitting Bucky who hadn’t noticed him approaching.

He led him inside and introduced him to the class. Bucky was spoke to the class, but was too nervous to remember what he said apart from the fact that he made people laugh.

 

He walked over to Nat and started talking to her in Russian.

 

“ _Thanks for leaving me to deal with administration alone, Nat._ ”

 

She smirked at him. “ _I had to. You need to be seen as independent, otherwise they’ll eat you alive. What do you think of the class?_ ”

 

“ _I like them - they think I’m funny_.”

 

“ _They have really bad tastes of humor._ ”

 

He rolled his eyes at her.

 

“ _Hilarious, Romanoff._ ”

 

Bucky took the empty seat in front of Natasha’s friend and turned around to introduce himself, straddling the chair backwards.

 

Steve Rogers was an extremely shy guy. (Also extremely talented. And cute)

 

Bucky inquired about his art and tattoos, all in order to get him to talk. He didn’t exactly need to lie – he actually wanted tattoos, and started considering commissioning Steve to polish up a design for him. The kid was ridiculously talented, and Bucky wondered what he would do with the half-finished sketch he kept in his wallet.

 

Bucky wondered if getting a tattoo hurt, especially for someone like Steve. He pulled away the collar of his shirt to show Bucky his tats, and designs that intricate on his delicate collarbones must’ve hurt like a bitch. Bucky let his eyes wander over the tattoos gracing Roger’s skin, ignoring the teacher nattering on in the background. It was only the buzz of the bell that snapped him out of it. He remembered that he had class on the other end of the school building, so he quickly took the books he deposited on Steve’s desk and stood up.

 

He invited them both for coffee after school – Starbucks slipped off his tongue before he could remember it’s not exactly the manliest, or hippest, place to get a cup of coffee.

He turned away before he could embarrass himself even more, and set off for the computer science lab.

 

He kept replaying his conversation with Steve in his head, having the Gay or Just An Artist? debate in his head all the way there. Bucky sat down at the first available computer, firing it up and still not actually paying attention.

 

He went through the day in a haze, discovering he didn’t share any of the classes with Nat or Steve. He made a few aquintances, exchanged phone numbers, but didn’t really make friends.

 

He practically ran out after his last class, and had to sit down on a bench to gain his breath in order to appear normal. He checked his face in the reflection of his phone and popped in a piece of gum.

 

Bucky was fiddling with the strap on his backpack when he heard them approach. They were discussing the physics of superhero weaponry when they noticed him waiting.

 

“Hey,” Steve greeted with a small wave of his ringed hand, “Hope you didn’t have to wait for us.”

 

“Nah, just got here.” Bucky lied, giving them a small smile. He led the way through the crowd of students to the coffee shop half a block away. Nat left them at the register to “save their seats,” but not before using the moment Steve was checking out the pastries to poke Bucky with her elbow and give a pointed look. “Cute, right?” she whispered, before walking away to the corner table.

 

There were a few people in line in front of them, so he used to moment to start a conversation

Bucky cleared his throat.

 

“See something you want?” He asked, pointing at the food.

Steve blinked at him and blushed before looking away and muttering something about cinnamon buns and black coffee.

 

It was finally their turn to order, so Bucky asked for a tall black coffee and Steve ordered a grande black and a cinnamon bun for himself, and a tall Mocha Frappuccino and brownie for Natasha.

 

Nat cornered them as soon as they sat down. She strategically positioned herself on a chair so he and Steve would have to share the sofa.

 

“So Yasha, how was your first day? Meet anyone interesting?” she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

 

Bucky took a sip of the still too hot coffee. There was one of his favorite Strokes songs playing from the speakers above and Steve was drumming his fingers on the table – making ripples in Bucky’s coffee and distracting him by mouthing the lyrics.

“It went okay, I guess. I met a few people, exchanged numbers and e-mails. But beside you guys, no one I actually find interesting.”

 

Steve took a bite of his pastry and chewed thoughtfully before answering.

“That’s how I felt when I got here. Nat was the only person worth knowing. She’s awesome.”

 

She shrugged in a what-can-you-do fashion. “Steve was so cute when we first met. Imagine this tiny guy coming to school with eyes the size of saucers, but he’s all tatted up. It was hilarious. I think all the bullies’ brains short-circuited because of that one.”

 

Bucky turned to Steve. “You moved, too?”

 

Steve shook his head. “Nope. I’ve lived here all my life. It’s just that I was a sickly child, always in and out of hospitals, so my mom homeschooled me while working to support us.”

 

“You have an awesome mom, Rogers.”

 

“I really do. The happiest moment of my life was looking at her face when my doctors said I could attend school regularly. ”

“I bet you’re already sick of hospitals. Awesome that you’re doing well now.”

 

Steve’s expression turned grim. “I hate hospitals. I spend almost all my free time there.”

Bucky was confused.

“I thought you got better.”

“Oh, I did. But my mom got diagnosed with ovarian cancer 2 years later. She’s hospitalized. I visit every day.”

 

Bucky felt cold all over.

 

“Oh God. I am so sorry, Steve. I had no idea.”

 

Steve touched his arm.

“I’m kind of familiar with the frailty of human health. It’s okay. Really.”

 

The practiced way he said it made Bucky think Steve was in much more pain than he let on, and Bucky fought the urge to hug him so hard his knuckles were white.

Steve looked at him, and his’s eyes were shinier than they were a few moments ago, accentuating the cerulean color and making Bucky’s chest and stomach tighten, both for different reasons.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one's short, just to tide you over. the next chapter will most likely be quite a monster. :)

It was already dark outside when Steve left the coffee shop. He felt bad for leaving early, but he had to see his mom before visiting hours ended. Bucky and Nat hopefully understood but Steve still texted them an apology anyways. Bucky gave him his number under the guise of sending him a link to a funny text post on his blog, and Steve couldn’t help but smile.  
  
  
 **TO** : Nat, Bucky  
6:29  
  
Sorry I had to leave. :/  
  
 **FROM** : Nat  
6:31  
  
 _It’s okay, hun. Tell Sarah I said hi._  
  
 **FROM** : Bucky  
6:40  
  
 _no problem, totally understandable. you’ll have to make it up to me, though. :)_   
  
**FROM** : Bucky  
6:40  
  
 _*US. MAKe it up to us. sry_  
  
 **TO** : Bucky  
6:41  
  
Have any ideas how to go about that? :)  
  
  
  
Steve chuckled to himself like a mad man, loudly enough to look like a dork in front of everyone on the train. He pocketed his phone before exiting the train and tried to act normal. There was less people than usual, so he reached the little kiosk in front of the hospital in record time.  
  
He bought his mom today’s New York Times, whose front page was graced by a young millionaire genius making the rounds because of a AI breakthrough, a crossword magazine, and a box of chocolates. He chatted with the nurse at the reception desk and she complained about today’s rush. The nurse was an older woman who was always happy to talk to Steve, who reminded her of her son. Steve never asked what happened to him but, from what she told him, Steve presumed he was one of the first victims of AIDS in New York.   
  
He left her to her job and went to see his mother.  
  
Sarah Rogers was asleep in her bed. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and skin so pale Steve could see the colorful veins beneath.  
  
He sat down in a chair next to her. Steve deposited the contents of his bag on her bedside table, and took a romance novel he brought from home from his messenger bag.   
  
Steve had nothing to do but hold his mother’s hand and watch TV, which was muted and on closed captioning. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep and was woken up by the nice nurse who had come to check on his mom and remind him that visiting hours ended a long time ago.   
  
He kissed Sarah’s forehead before picking up his stuff and leaving.  
  
He was already halfway home when he remembered to check his phone. Steve had to double check his phone because it was already 9 P.M., and he stayed for much longer that he intended.  
  
He saw three messages, all from Bucky, and his heart leapt out of his chest.  
  
  
 **FROM** : Bucky  
6:47  
  
 _you could always feed my caffeine addiction and buy me a cup of coffee in brooklyn’s finest cafe?_  
 _:P_  
  
 **FROM** : Bucky  
6:58  
  
 _steve?_  
  
 **FROM** : Bucky  
7:27  
  
 _sorry if i ruined it_  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Bucky’s heart fell when Steve announced his departure for his mother’s hospital. It seemed that they had just sat down with their drinks and started talking.

 

He got up, assuming they were all leaving together but Natasha grabbed his wrist to keep him from moving.

 

“ _Where do you think you’re going, Yasha?”_ she asked in whispered Russian. Her smirk was met with Bucky’s raised eyebrow. He sat down nonetheless and gave Steve a tiny wave. Steve was still in the coffee shop, wavering near the door, unsure if they were to follow. When he noticed Nat was not moving from her spot, which was strategically placed so she could observe (check out) every person in the establishment, he gave them a small smile and left. It wasn’t long after the bells on the door jingled that both Bucky’s and Natasha’s phones vibrated.

 

Nat shook her head, red ringlets moving like an animated character’s, as if she already knew what the message said. She still smiled when she read it – it was in an ‘oh you’ way – and texted back, her small fingers darting across the huge smartphone screen.

 

Bucky almost forgot to check his own phone. He unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb and felt warmth invade his chest like he’d just downed a shot of vodka, but the alcohol lost its burn.

 

**FROM** : Steve Rogers

6:29

 

_Sorry I had to leave :/_

 

Steve’s unwavering politeness was both overwhelmingly endearing and kind of upsetting. Would he be expected to show the same level of courtesy? Bucky wanted to, but he knew that he was lost in his head more often than not and simply forgot to conform to social conventions. It seemed that people were insulted when you forgot about their existence.

 

Bucky smiled at the out-dated emoticon Steve used, even though he had a smartphone and all the emoji his hipster heart could desire. He felt that Steve would appreciate the effort it took to type out the symbol for his emotion instead of simply tapping an emoji.

 

**TO** : Steve Rogers

6:40

_no problem, totally understandable. you’ll have to make it up to me, though. :)_

 

It was only when he pressed send that he remembered Natasha was here and would probably want to be included. He glanced at her over the screen of his phone and she smirked at him as she sucked on her straw. He felt his ears warm up and quickly typed another message, disregarding grammar, or any kind of rule a stuffy old man with three doctorates and a job at a linguistics institute might impose on English speakers.

 

 

**TO** : Steve Rogers

6:41

 

_*US. MAKe it up to us. Sry_

 

 

Bucky locked the screen of his phone, the fear of Steve’s response overriding his curiosity for the moment. He took a sip of his drink and looked at Natasha, who was furiously typing in her notepad app. She glanced up.

 

“Sorry. Just had an idea for a story and had to write it down.”

 

“No problem. You a writer?”

 

Nat blushed a tiny bit before answering.  


“Kinda, yeah. I mean, you probably wouldn’t consider the kind of stuff I like actual writing.”

 

Bucky’s interest was piqued.

 

He always had a love for the obscure, the disregarded, and the unwanted. They were an image of himself the world mirrored back at him, hoping that at least someone like him would give love if he couldn’t receive it.

 

Natasha must have seen interest flash on his features, because she continued.

 

“It’s, umm, fanfiction? Don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”

 

Oh, he did. He liked reading it, but Bucky abandoned writing it years ago. He didn’t have anything against it, but it was difficult for him to get inside the headspace of a character he didn’t create.

 

Bucky nodded at her and smiled, hoping to encourage her.

 

“I have. I still read it sometimes.”

 

She exhaled, and a look of relief washed over her face – unfurrowing her brows, smoothing out the creases on her forehead, lighting up her eyes.

 

“Really? Would you mind if I sent you some links? I don’t want critique or anything, just tell me if you liked it. Also, your phone buzzed like a few minutes ago, just so you know.”

 

Bucky checked his messages and found a reply from Steve.

 

 

 

**FROM** : Steve Rogers

6:41

 

_Have any ideas how to go about that? :)_

 

 

Bucky chuckled at Steve’s, or at least he hoped it was, attempt at flirting. He considered Steve’s love for coffee and general hipsterness as he typed a response.

 

 

**TO** : Steve Rogers

6:47

 

_you could always feed my caffeine addiction and buy me a cup of coffee in brooklyn’s finest cafe? :)_

 

 

Bucky downed the rest of his coffee to distract himself before remembering that caffeine isn’t exactly the kind of substance you take to calm your nerves. Natasha observed him with an amused smile, twirling her hair around her slender index finger.

 

She distracted him with recommendations, which she promised to e-mail him, and her plans for her eighteenth birthday.

 

“You’re invited, of course.” She added. She told him about a boy she liked, an archer, who couldn’t come because he was competing in a world championship. The guy was so head over heels for Nat, he almost dropped out of the contest for her. Upon hearing that, Nat went over to his place and kicked his ass, naturally.

 

It turned out that she wanted a tiny celebration, which meant her and Steve, and now Bucky.

 

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You won’t be, trust me.”

 

She started talking about the movies they would watch, because of course she would want a sleepover instead of a party. Bucky used the time she looked up trailers on her phone to text Steve. He assumed he hadn’t felt his phone vibrate on the train, so he texted him just so it would buzz again.

 

**TO** : Steve Rogers

6:58

 

_steve?_

 

 

 

Nat and Bucky chose a few movies from IMDB’s top 250 list and agreed to let Steve handle the music. Nat liked everything, Bucky only liked hardcore and Steve would take over the playlist to ‘educate them’ about actually good music anyways.

 

Bucky walked Nat to the subway station, and walked home from there. He walked up the creaking stairs, careful not to wake his elderly landlady, and left his backpack right at his door along with his shoes. He turned on his laptop and checked his phone as he waited for it to boot up.

 

Nothing. Radio silence.

 

A sudden cold ripped through his chest. It was a ghost memory of all unrequited loves and crushes, amplified by the intensity of his attraction to Steve. It wasn’t a conscious thing, either. He was attracted without actually knowing why. To everyone else, Steve was a faint star – a tiny point of light you didn’t really notice. To Bucky, he was an entire galaxy lighting up his dark skies, impossible to ignore or forget.

 

 

**TO:** Steve Rogers

7:27

 

_sorry if i ruined it_

 

Bucky pressed send. He took off his clothes and rummaged around his drawers for his sweatpants. Bucky got used to wearing only them at home because the house was freakishly hot, and the parquet was warm under his bare feet.

 

He walked to his bathroom and splashed cold water on his face.

 

His skin was pale and almost translucent. There were dark circles under his eyes and he desperately needed a shave, but those were usual features of his face.

 

Underneath the mirror, a couple of pill bottles sat on the counter. It was something his therapist back in Russia prescribed him when she realized talking wouldn’t help him.

 

No matter how hard he wished, a conversation wouldn’t drive the darkness away.

 

It all started when he was a tiny boy. He started having hallucinations and lost time, which was easily diagnosed as a simple mental disorder and even more easily fixed by a cocktail of drugs.

 

But when he got older, battling with his identity and the beliefs the Russian Orthodox Church instilled in him, he replaced, or better said, complemented the drugs with alcohol and pot.

 

His consumption increased when his father disappeared and he was ripped away from his family under the guise of a fresh start. He listened to his mother and moved to the States, even threw out Buchanan from his name to ‘protect his identity as a child of a diplomat’

 

Bucky left behind everything he ever loved.

 

He was alone.

 

He reached for the pill bottle.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve had to take a minute to breathe after reading Bucky’s texts. He probably looked like a nutcase, smiling ear-to-ear to himself like a goon .

 

He quickly texted back, mentally phrasing his text not to seem over-eager.

 

**TO** : Bucky

9:17 pm

 

_Sorry for not texting back, I was w/ Mom. Anyways, I’d love to :)_

 

 

He slipped his phone into his pocket and unlocked his apartment door. The hallway was dark and stuffy. Steve fumbled around on the wall until his hand found the switch, illuminating the small apartment. He dropped his bag on the floor and booted up his laptop.

 

Steve turned on the coffeemaker and checked if there were any leftovers in the fridge. He found a Tupperware container filled with pasta he’d made a few days ago and ate a few bites standing by the kitchen counter, waiting for his coffee.

 

Steve felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. His fingers tingling, he took his cup of coffee and sat down at his desk.

 

He unlocked his phone and felt a pang of disappointment when it turned out to be a text from Natasha.

 

**FROM** : Nat

9:25

 

_Your boy is head over heels for you :P_

 

**TO** : Nat

9:26

 

_He’s not my boy, Nat_

 

**FROM** : Nat

9:26

 

_Yet_

 

 

Steve sighed and ran a hand over his face. He couldn’t keep from smiling at Nat’s assuredness in their romantic success. There was a ping from his laptop and a Skype window popped up.

 

 

**blackwidow** : steve and james sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G

 

**rogers0407** : Shut up

**rogers0407** : So help me, Ii will publicly associate the fan art you commissioned from me with your name

 

**blackwidow** : as if

**blackwidow** : we’ll save this discussion of your traitorous behavior for some other time

**blackwidow** : i’m having a pizza movie night with clint

**blackwidow** : well, he’ll probably have all of the pizza and i’ll have just a movie night

 

**rogers0407** : yes Ma’am

**rogers0407** : tell Barton I said hi

**rogers0407** : and have fun

 

**blackwidow** : will do :)

 

 

Steve closed the window with a small smile tugging at his lips, imagining Nat and Clint watching From Russia With Love for the billionth time, Nat curled around her boyfriend while he ate pizza with one hand and reached out to pet his dog with the other.

 

A loud honk from outside snapped him out of his reverie, focusing his gaze on the nightscape framed by his window. There was a boy smoking across the street, clad in all black. Steve would’ve mistaken him for Bucky if the boy hadn’t had bright pink hair.

 

He spent a few minutes observing the guy who leaned against the recently closed hotel on the other side of the street, and kept tapping his foot nervously.

The boy dumped the butt of his cigarette in the sewer and was just about to light up another when he spotted someone coming towards him.

 

It was another boy dressed in all black, this one with a shaved head. When the pink-haired boy recognized him, he strode over to him and grabbed him in a desperate kiss.

 

This moment was far too private to observe uninvited, so Steve averted his eyes and made himself busy by checking his blog and answering the messages that awaited him.

 

They were pretty much standard – inquiries about commissions, personal messages about his process, about the pencils he used, his favorite software, and amidst them all, a message from someone called _redstar-bucks._

 

 

**redstar-bucks** said:

 

_found ya!_

 

The message was timestamped just around the time he had coffee with Bucky and Nat.

 

Steve bit his lip as he remembered Bucky fiddling around his phone while Steve was telling him about his art, tattoos and the difficulties of running a blog without becoming addicted. He was surprised not at the fact that Bucky had found him (mostly because his username was _steverogersart_ ), but at the fact that he took the time to follow him and messaging him while they were conversing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

There was a gloved hand coming for Bucky, like a doctor’s hand, except this doctor grabbed him by his hair and yanked him into a chair. He felt light-headed and his face throbbed with pain, like he’d been punched one too many times. Someone held him down while the others jabbed needles into his arms. Bucky’s vision blurred and his head spun with a ringing noise, not unlike the hum of electricity, effectively drowning out the sounds around him.

 

He distantly felt a burning sensation on his cheek, like someone had slapped him, but he was indifferent.

A muffled voice said: _Wipe him._

 

A group of men in white coats strapped him down into the chair, roughly yanking hard leather straps over his soft, pale, flesh. He was naked and shivering, though he didn’t feel it.

 

The air suddenly changed, a twinge of ozone mixing with the scent of sterilising fluid. A buzzing sound got through the ringing in his head and there were no thoughts left in his head. Electricity coursed through his muscles as he trashed in the chair.

 

Just as the pain was becoming unbearable, Bucky woke up.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got real dark, real quick


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky sat up in his bed, gasping for breath. He had been having nightmares like this for almost a decade. They were the source of many sleepless nights and under-eye circles caused by fear of falling asleep.  
  
Bucky looked for his watch in the dark and when he found it he realized it was not 11, or even  12 p.m., it was 4 in the morning. Everything was silent, apart from the faint sound of traffic in the distance and his heart thudding in his chest.  
  
A deep breath calmed him down a bit, but Bucky still felt like shit in his stuffy bedroom. He walked over to the window and opened it, careful not to make the hinges squeak. A cool breeze instantly enveloped him, making rivulets of sweat dry on his skin.   
  
He leaned against the windowsill and looked up into the night sky. The light pollution in the City was awful, but he could still spot a few of the brightest stars and mentally assign them a constellation. Bucky patted the pockets of his sweatpants, and found his phone.   
  
The pills he took knocked the lights out him almost immediately and he collapsed on his bed still in his clothes, even though he normally slept naked while it was still warm out.  
  
He checked his phone and saw a message from Steve. His heart jump-started, thundering in his ribcage as he opened the text.  
  
  
 **FROM** : Steve Rogers  
9:17 PM  
  
 _Sorry for not texting back, I was w/ Mom. Anyways, I’d love to :)_  
  
  
Bucky felt as if a huge burden was lifted from his shoulders. He breathed out, a quiet laugh escaping him. Relief blossomed in his chest, and then became happiness.  
  
He was, for the first time in quite a long while, at peace.  
  
The night was beautiful in a way only darkness can be beautiful, a few wayward birds were chirping at 4 a.m. and Bucky was happy.  
  
He turned on the lamp he’d haphazardly put on the floor next to his bed. The light coming from Bucky’s latest thrift store find was faint and barely illuminated his bedroom, but Bucky wouldn’t be able to give up its charm. The gentle golden light softened the sharp edges of the world, and   
The world, now more amicable, was somewhere Bucky would want to exist.  
  
Still in a daze, he sat down on his bed and opened his backpack in an attempt to make himself be productive as there was no way in hell he was going back to sleep.  
  
He was pulling out his binder and a couple of textbooks out of his bag when something fluttered to the floor.  
  
It was a small piece of paper.  
  
Bucky picked it up and eyed it curiously. He unfolded it to read the almost calligraphy-like handwriting he could see was inside.

  
  
_I like this guy. He’s cute._

  
  
His mind ground to a halt, and he tried to think of where he could’ve picked it up by mistake.  
  
He sat alone in all of his classes, and he didn’t have a lab partner in biology, but- oh.  
  
Bucky could feel a grin spreading across his face and had to fight the urge to giggle like a school-girl.  
  
He set down his books on the parquet, leaving only the scrap of paper in his hands. Bucky could practically sense the naivete   of Steve's crush, the sparks of attraction firing off in his brain, bony fingers scratching out the words on a piece of sketchbook paper.  
  
It was at moments like this that Bucky couldn't help but write. He pulled out his notebook, a black leather Moleskine knock-off he bought in a tiny bookstore in Moscow just after he started high school. It was worn out, almost falling apart, the spine cracking  as he opened it.  
  
Several pieces of paper slid out as he spread it open on his lap, flying all over the floor and under the bed. He picked them up the best as he could, reaching under the bed and sneezing as he made a cloud of dust rise.  
  
They were old poems he'd written when he had his first crush. Unrequited, of course. Bucky was 13 years old, a serious child beloved by his parents and every little old lady in his neighborhood, when he first met Pyotr.   
  
Pyotr was a tall, solemn boy with crinkling gray eyes, and chestnut hair he constantly pushed back behind his ears. He wore a ragged brown coat and a scarf so huge you could barely see his face.  
  
Bucky fell in love instantly.    
  
His crush was short-lived, and he was glad when Pyotr's parents decided to try their luck in the States because his tiny heart would break every time Pyotr would confide in him with his crushes.  Pyotr and his family disappeared overnight, without warning, Pyotr leaving only a short letter wishing him the best of luck, and "..maybe you will win over that love of yours, Yasha."  
  
He didn't even get to say goodbye.  
  
There were a couple of photographs in the stack of papers. One showed Bucky and Pyotr shortly after they'd met, when Bucky's parents took them for a daytrip to the woods. The boys were sitting on a blanket in a meadow, grinning at the camera.  
  
Another was a photo Bucky took - Pyotr was sitting in a chair next to the large picture window in Bucky's room. Soft afternoon light set his face aglow, his gaze piercing as he stared at the camera.  
  
Bucky felt a pang of nostalgia as he held the picture, gently, as to not damage the worn out photograph.  
  
Pyotr was in the same country as him, Bucky remembered. He was most likely going by Peter. Bucky hoped he was happy.  
Hoped he was well. Hoped he was remembered.  
  
With a sigh that both signaled contention and finality, Bucky folded a piece of paper in a makeshift envelope and stuffed his memories inside.

  
  
He flipped over the notebook because the other side was blank, and he took out a black pen. He dated the first page and titled it Steve.  
  
Bucky stared at the paper, its blankness beckoning him until he couldn't bear it. He dropped the pen and, instead of writing, just inserted the piece of paper he'd accidentally pilfered from Steve.  
  
He tucked his notebook under his pillow and padded over to the bathroom to freshen up for school because there was no sleep for him that night.

If he had just lifted his gaze out the window, Bucky would have seen the reflection of a pair of binoculars being lowered and a figure quietly moving from the adjacent rooftop's edge.  
  



End file.
